familiar and ever-thrilling voice.

The Moors who heard it turned round in amaze and awe; and beheld, raised
upon the stone upon which the criers or heralds had been wont to utter
the royal proclamations, the form of Almamen, the santon, whom they had
deemed already with the dead.

"Moors and people of Granada!" he said, in a solemn but hollow voice, "I
am with ye still. Your monarch and your heroes have deserted ye, but I
am with ye to the last! Go not to the Alhambra: the fort is
impenetrable--the guard faithful. Night will be wasted, and day bring
upon you the Christian army. March to the gates; pour along the Vega;
descend at once upon the foe!"

He spoke, and drew forth his sabre; it gleamed in the torchlight--the
Moors bowed their heads in fanatic reverence--the santon sprang from the
stone, and passed into the centre of the crowd.

Then, once more, arose joyful shouts. The multitude had found a leader
worthy of their enthusiasm; and in regular order, they formed themselves
rapidly, and swept down the narrow streets.

Swelled by several scattered groups of desultory marauders (the ruffians
and refuse of the city), the infidel numbers were now but a few furlongs
from the great gate, whence they had been wont to issue on the foe. And
then, perhaps, had the Moors passed these gates and reached the Christian
encampment, lulled, as it was, in security and sleep, that wild army of
twenty thousand desperate men might have saved Granada; and Spain might
at this day possess the only civilised empire which the faith of Mohammed
ever founded.